


6. Rebound

by picturestoproveit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Come Shot, Cunnilingus, F/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturestoproveit/pseuds/picturestoproveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My submission for the 50 Reasons Sherlolly Tumblr challenge.</p><p>Merry Christmas, hope you all like back alley blow jobs, because that's what you're getting!</p>
            </blockquote>





	6. Rebound

 

Molly slumped backwards against the wooden booth, swirling the last of the Guinness in the bottom of her pint glass before arching her head back and tossing the bitter liquid down her throat. She grunted and slammed the glass down on the lacquered pine, absently wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

Mary eyed her warily. "Mols...are you sure you're okay?" she asked, arching one brow pointedly at her friend. Molly attempted a smile, though it came out more as a constipated grimace. "Yes, Mary, please - I'm FINE," Molly replied, rather unconvincingly. Mary continued to stare at her in concern. Molly sighed impatiently.  "Look, really, I'll be okay, " she implored. "It just wasn't...it wasn't meant to be, alright?" Molly drew a shaky breath inward as she lowered her eyes, fighting the urge to burst into tears for what would have been the eighth time in as many hours.

"Look, lovey, it's okay to be a right mess," Mary said gently, reaching across the pub table and taking Molly's hand. "You've just called off your wedding. Maybe we should just get out of here and head to your flat, go eat a carton of ice cream and watch some crap telly, yeah?"

"NO," Molly said firmly, slapping her hand on the edge of the table for emphasis. "I'm here to drink and laugh and dance and take someone home and shag them silly," she declared, the two pints she had previously imbibed adding to her bravado.

Mary sighed. "Molly, I really don't think a one-off is going to help matters," she said, exasperated. Molly wasn't listening. She was too busy scanning the crowded pub for potential takers.

"MOLLY," Mary said firmly, cupping her friend's chin and forcing her to look her in the eyes. Molly swatted at Mary's hand in annoyance. "Look, Mary, I appreciate your concern," she snapped, "but I need this. PLEASE." She squeezed her eyes shut as memories of that morning came flooding forward: the shouting and the tears, followed by the tired resignation and bitter emptiness.

 

_"Keep it," Tom had said sadly, as Molly tearfully held the diamond ring in her outstretched palm. Without another word, he had turned and walked out of her flat, leaving her hollow and numb and alone. So very alone._

Molly slid her money across the table absentmindedly. "Next round's on me," she murmured to Mary, rising from her seat. Mary followed her friend's gaze to a blonde, uni-aged bloke standing by the bar. He looked Molly up and down and shot her a lopsided grin. Molly blushed and giggled as she made her way over to him. Mary's eyes practically rolled out of her head. She grabbed her mobile from her purse and quickly shot off a text:  _Molly's a mess. Get down here and help me fix this._  


****************************************

"Heeere you go, lovey," Mary crooned, waltzing over with two precariously balanced cocktails and purposefully wiggling her way in between Molly and her suitor. 

Molly looked put-off as she accepted the drink Mary had pushed into her hand. "Thanks, Mary," Molly said through gritted teeth, clearly annoyed by the intrusion. Mary smiled brightly. "Don't mention it," she exclaimed, before turning her attentions to the young man standing at her side, a bemused expression clouding his boyish features. "Sooo," Mary chirped, "what's your name, sport?"

"Uh, Jason."

"Jason! So nice to meet you. It's awfully late to be out on a weeknight, isn't it? After all, you must have class in the morning. Did you know that Molly's thirty- fourth birthday is next week - "

Molly grabbed Mary by the sleeve sharply. "I know what you're doing, " she hissed, her eyes blazing, "and it's not going to work."

"Molly, he can't be a day over twenty years old," Mary hissed back. "Don't be stupid. You have to know that this is going to end badly!"

"It's going to end with his clothes on my bedroom floor, whether I have your permission or not!" Molly's voice was a little louder than she had intended, several patrons turning to stare in amusement.

Jason cleared his throat loudly just then, causing both women to look up. "It's getting a little noisy," he said pointedly, reaching past Mary to grab Molly's hand. He tugged her towards him. "It looks a little quieter over there," he murmured, nodding his head at the darkened corner near the pool table. Molly grinned at him and allowed herself to be dragged away. She glanced over her shoulder and shot Mary one last glare before disappearing behind a wall of drunken rugby fans. 

Mary rubbed her temples vigorously. She was debating the merits of stopping Molly from doing something that she would regret in the morning versus heading back to the bar for a double shot of Dewars, when she felt a warm and familiar hand slide across her hip and squeeze her waist. 

"Ugh, thank God you're here," she murmured, leaning back against her fiancé's sturdy frame. John bent forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Saving Molly Hooper from a mental breakdown? I wouldn't miss it," he replied, smiling brightly. He looked up and started scanning the room. 

"Where is she?" John asked, furrowing his brow. "I don't see -  _ohh."_  He stopped short, his eyes landing on the couple furiously snogging in the back corner of the pub. 

"Ahhh, yeahhh...that's a bit not good, isn't it?" John chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Mary grimaced in agreement. 

"She's not herself, John. And I understand. She just broke up with her fiancé. But I can't seem to convince her that a rebound shag with a boy she could have babysat for in secondary school is a colossally bad idea." Mary sighed and took a delicate sip of her cocktail. "I don't know what to do. I just don't want her to hurt anymore."

John spun Mary around and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You're a good friend, you know that?" he said affectionately. Mary smiled and tilted her face up, planting a sweet kiss on John's mouth. She pulled away slowly, catching his bottom lip with her teeth as she did so. John groaned softly in surprise, and Mary grinned as she pressed her body against his, kissing him on the cheek gently before bringing her lips to his ear. 

"John Watson, if you help me fix this, I promise I'll fuck you so hard you'll need to walk with your cane for days afterward," she whispered in the sweetest voice she could muster. John gulped audibly and cleared his throat. 

"Well, in that case," he said, turning slightly towards the door and beckoning with two fingers. "It's a good thing I brought my secret weapon." 

*******************************************

  
_Oh, this is way too much tongue,_ Molly thought distractedly, as Jason continued his enthusiastic assault her mouth. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed him away gently. He looked at her in confusion.

"Everything okay?" he questioned. Molly smiled. "Yeah, yeah…it's fine. Everything's fine," she responded brightly.  _Everything is not fine, actually. My fiancé called off my wedding, and now I'm making out with a guy barely old enough to legally drink in a pub._ Molly sighed and stared at her hands, currently pressed against his chest.  _What are you doing, Molly Hooper? This isn't you. Turn around and walk away before you completely lose face._ She was about to pull away and do just that when he slid his hand slowly down her side, reaching around to cup her arse through her tight denim skirt. Molly shivered in spite of herself.  _Well…that felt nice._ She slowly spread her fingers across his muscled chest.   _Oh...my…well, he_ is _really fit. So what if he's a bad kisser? Maybe I can teach him. Show him a thing or two._  


Molly nodded internally, having convinced herself that taking Jason home for the purpose of instructing him on the proper ways to please a woman was not only the right thing to do, it was downright benevolent. "C'mon," she said, her cheeks flushed both from the alcohol and the anticipation of the extremely out- of- character act she was about to commit. "Let's get out of here." She grabbed his hand and began leading him to the back door of the pub. "My flat's a few blocks away, we can take a shortcut-"

"That wouldn't be one of your brightest ideas, Dr. Hooper."

Molly froze. Her spine tingled lightly, an involuntary response to the voice she would know anywhere. She whipped her head around and came face to face with Sherlock. 

"What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly, her face burning. He was literally the  _last_ person she wanted to see right now, given the events of the day. 

 

_"Don't delude yourself, Molly," Tom had nearly shouted, a rarity for the soft-spoken man Molly had fallen in love with months before. "I've seen the way you look at him. It may not be obvious to you, but it's obvious to me."_

“Right now, trying to dissuade you from engaging in a back alley tryst with a teenager,” Sherlock responded, his tone bored but his eyes sparkling in amusement. Molly’s draw dropped.  _Oh, the fucking nerve…_  


“Oi!” Jason spoke suddenly. “I’ll have you know I’m twenty!” Molly cringed and turned an even deeper shade of scarlet.  _Someone, please kill me. Kill me now._  


“Mmm…no,” Sherlock drawled, his eyes dancing over the young man’s features. “Sorry. Nineteen…born in...September, I believe. So,  _almost_ twenty.  Second year of uni…but you recently got sent down, likely from too much drinking and not enough studying. Well done, Molly!” Sherlock exclaimed with sarcastic exuberance, turning toward her slightly. “Nineteen years old, a university dropout, and biologically in his sexual prime. I’m sure that Jason here will engage you in endless minutes of subpar sexual congress before passing out on your bathroom floor."

Molly was speechless with humiliation. Jason, however, was staring at Sherlock in awe.

“You’re the detective. The one who came back from the dead,” Jason said, stunned. Sherlock smirked. “Brilliant observation, Jason!" he exclaimed condescendingly.  “It’s a shame you couldn’t effectively apply those masterful critical thinking skills towards your base-level social science courses at Roehampton.”

Jason seemed obliviously to the fact that he was being insulted. “How’d you know?” he asked in awe. Molly rolled her eyes.  _Here we go…_  


“How did I know  _what?_ I’ve listed several unflattering, yet wholly accurate, descriptors. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“All-all of it. My age, my birthday,  _my name,”_ he stammered. “That I got kicked out of Roehampton? How did you know all that by just looking at me?”

“Ah, that,” Sherlock said dismissively. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather-bound wallet, flipping it up in the air and catching it deftly for effect. He handed it over to Jason with a self-satisfied grin. “You should watch your pockets more carefully, especially when you’re drinking in a crowd.” Jason merely looked at him dumbly, taking the wallet and sliding it into his back pocket.

“Some would call that cheating,” Sherlock said, catching Molly’s eye briefly. “I call it due diligence.”

Molly stared at Sherlock with pure contempt before spinning abruptly and storming toward the exit. She pushed the heavy door hard with both hands and hurried out into the warm, humid night.  

“Molly – wait,” Sherlock said, sliding through the door deftly and catching her sleeve between his fingers. Molly yanked her arm away roughly. “Go away,” she snapped. She continued down the moonlit alley, heading toward her flat. Sherlock followed a few steps behind. “Must you ruin  _everything?_ ” she cried over her shoulder. “Really, Sherlock? I can’t even get one lousy rebound fuck without you wrecking that too? Haven’t you done ENOUGH??”

"Honestly, you should be thanking me. I just saved you approximately nine minutes of unsatisfying lovemaking," Sherlock retorted.

"Lovemaking? No, Sherlock, there wasn't going to be any lovemaking, " Molly snapped angrily, heat rising to her already flushed cheeks. "Dick riding and cock sucking? Yes. Lovemaking? Well, that part of my life is over, no thanks to you." She was practically spitting her words out, not noticing that Sherlock was suddenly frozen in place, staring at her with a bewildered and somewhat shocked expression.

 

_"But I love you," Molly had pleaded desperately._

_"I don't doubt that, Molly. But you love him more."_

The memory elicited a small moan of distress from Molly's throat, and she quickly turned away from Sherlock and took a sharp left down another alley. 

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called after her. Molly stopped in her tracks. "Home," she snapped, pointing at the dimly lit street at the end of the corridor. "And I don't need an escort," she continued, stretching her arm out, palm up, as Sherlock started walking toward her again. "What I need is at least four more pints and a decent shag, so unless you have a bottle under that bloody coat or you plan on fucking me yourself, you can piss off," she growled. 

Sherlock froze again. Molly snorted. "That's what I thought," she snapped, feeling empowered by her anger and frustration. "Maybe if I had asked for a syringe and looked a little like John Watson, you'd sing a different tune," she sneered with uncharacteristic cruelty. 

The second the words left her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. He was on her in a heartbeat, closing the gap between them in three long, angry strides. He grabbed her by both arms and pushed her up against the brick façade roughly. 

Molly gasped and began to stammer an apology, only to have Sherlock clamp his hand over her mouth. He leaned in, pressing his body against hers, and turned his head so his lips were practically brushing her ear.

"What else?" he murmured lowly.

Molly's expression changed from one of fright to one of confusion. "Hmmph?" she muffled into his hand, turning her head to question him with dark eyes. He dropped his hand and took a small step back, gazing down at her intensely.

"What else would you have done with him? Your 'rebound fuck'?" he clarified, his voice darker and deeper than usual. Molly's heart thundered as she stared back at Sherlock, too numb with shock and confusion to even breathe, let alone speak.

"There are a wide berth of activities between 'cock sucking' and 'dick riding'", he explained calmly, flicking his eyes down the slender lines of her body. "If I'm to replace that…  _boy_ … for the evening, I need to know where you expect me to begin."

Molly gaped at him.  _Is he serious? He can’t be serious._ Sherlock reached up and gently cupped her chin, staring at her intently.  _Oh god…I think he’s serious._  


"We- he...he would kiss me first?" Molly managed to squeak. Sherlock raised one eyebrow in amusement. 

"Is that a question or a statement, Molly?" he asked, pressing his lips softly against the tender skin beneath her jaw. Molly moaned quietly, pushing her hips forward against his.

"A st-statement?" Molly gasped. Sherlock dug his fingers into her upper arm, the pain only adding to the growing tension in her center. He pulled his face away from her throat and pressed his lips against hers firmly. 

Molly opened her mouth slightly, and Sherlock took the hint, sliding his tongue past her lips, moving it slowly and deeply against her own. He released his tight grip on her arms and slowly smoothed his palms downward, allowing Molly to reach up with both hands and cup his face firmly, pulling him down harder as their lips and tongues quickened their pace. 

Sherlock pulled away first, panting slightly. "And how would he have touched you?" he asked, ghosting his fingertips up and down over her hips. His blue eyes searched her face so eagerly that Molly couldn't help but grin. Her heart hammering, she took a beat to catch her breath before answering. "He'd have unbuttoned my shirt," Molly breathed, reaching up to steal a small kiss from those bloody perfect lips. Sherlock's fingers flew up to the front of her blouse, but Molly quickly grabbed him by his wrists. Sherlock looked at her quizzically. 

"He probably would have tried to rush this part, but I would have... _instructed_ him to go slowly," Molly said, hoping the seductive tone hid the tremble in her voice. Sherlock smiled and obliged, his fingers trailing down her front unhurriedly, deftly freeing each button one-by-one, slowly, deliberately. He leaned forward and nipped at her collarbone gently as he undid the last button.  He moved to slide her shirt off her shoulders, sucking at the base of her throat, when she stopped him again.

"Nuh-uh," she whispered teasingly. "I'd make him leave it on. At least until he was finished with my knickers." Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, and placed one more bruising kiss to Molly's clavicle before dragging his fingertips down the soft swell of her lace-covered breasts and smooth abdomen. He reached lower, gripping her outer thighs and slowly hiking her denim skirt up around her hips. 

"And then?" Sherlock responded, his voice husky. Molly moved to kiss him again, tracing his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, before catching it between her teeth. She felt him moan against her mouth, his cock hard, pressing urgently against her hip. 

"And then he'd rub my clit through my knickers," Molly whispered boldly against his ear, and moaned softly when Sherlock obliged, working the heel of his hand firmly against her mound, slipping the fabric of her pants over her clitoris repeatedly. Molly threw arms around his shoulders and gripped him tightly to her chest. He buried his face in her shoulder and moved his fingers underneath the elastic of her panties.

"And just how wet would he have found you?" he whispered against her throat, dipping a finger across her damp core. Molly gasped, and she felt his smirk against her skin.  "Quite wet, I see," he murmured, as he slowly sunk to his knees in front of her. Molly's eyes widened as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her petite legs and off. 

  
_Holy shit...we're in an alley_ , Molly thought, finally coming to her senses a bit.  _We can't do this here! It's dirty and practically in public and -_  


"OHH", Molly moaned loudly as Sherlock dragged his tongue languidly through her folds. She abandoned her previous reservations by default, as she was literally unable to concentrate of anything but the feel of Sherlock's mouth as it worked her cunt.

Without breaking contact with her sensitive flesh, Sherlock gripped the back of her left thigh and lifted her leg, draping it over his shoulder, opening her up wider to him and his oral attentions.

Molly gasped and nearly lost her balance as his tongue circled her clit with a slow and steady pressure. She buried both hands into his hair and held on for dear life, accidently pulling his curls a bit too sharply. Sherlock moaned approvingly, his mouth still pressed firmly against her labia, and the vibration of his vocalization alone nearly pushed her off the edge.

She felt her legs start to go rigid, and she knew she was close. Sherlock, of course, sensed it as well, and he took full advantage of her impending orgasm, pressing his tongue firmly against her sensitive bundle and sliding one finger deep inside of her. At that, Molly gripped his head even tighter as she rocked her pelvis in time with the strokes of both his tongue and his finger.

“Oh – OH, FUCK –“ Molly practically screamed when Sherlock added another finger to her already throbbing pussy. He simultaneously crooked both fingers forward and closed his lips around her clit, and she fell to pieces, one hand flying up to muffle her involuntary scream, the other grasping the back of his head and pushing his face deeper into her pulsing center.

Molly closed her eyes and leaned against the rough brick, unwrapping her leg from around his shoulders and slowly regaining her senses. She gulped several times, catching her breath, and when she opened her eyes again, she found herself gazing down at two very wide, very expectant blue eyes.

“C’mere,” she mumbled, reaching down for his collar and tugging up until he was standing over her.  His eyes continued to bore into hers, his face damp with her wetness, his hair wild from her overexcited hands. She grinned and pressed her lips to his, tasting her own musky sweetness, and feeling newly aroused all over again.

Molly stood on tiptoe and licked the shell of his ear slowly. Sherlock moaned softly, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of triumph. She never once, not in a million years, believed she would ever be in a position where she had any kind of power over Sherlock Holmes. Yet here she was, in a back alley, no less, and had the man so tightly wound that she truly believed he’d do almost anything for her at the moment.   _It’s certainly a far cry from bringing him his coffee every damn day,_ she thought with a smirk.

“Take off your jacket,” she whispered in his ear, her voice husky and commanding. He obliged in record time, shrugging out of the tight-fitting suit jacket and letting it hit the ground. Molly flicked at his ear with her tongue one last time before pulling her face even with his.

“Back against the wall, “ she ordered lowly. Sherlock could only obey, wordlessly turning and pressing up against the side of the building. Molly smiled at him sweetly, pushing against his firm chest with her small hands. She raked her nails down his shirt until she hit the waistband of his trousers. With a simple flick of her fingers, she released the button and worked her hand into his pants, closing her fingers around his length and stroking him firmly. 

Sherlock gasped at the contact and tipped his head back against the brick façade, staring down at her with unbridled lust. Without breaking eye contact, Molly slid down his body until she was kneeling in front of him. She discretely grabbed his jacket off the ground and positioned in underneath her knees, the thin wool offering some protection from the rough asphalt.

She pulled his cock free from his trousers and slowly drew her tongue over the head, gazing up at him with an innocent expression. He groaned, gently resting his hand behind her neck, encouragingly. Molly gripped the base of his erection and pushed it upward, dipping her head lower to lick a long, hot strip up the ridge of his hardness, flattening her tongue at the frenulum and pausing there briefly before meeting his eyes again. He stared back at her with heavy lids, practically holding his breath, his fingers tightening ever so slightly at the nape of her neck, waiting.

Molly closed her lips around the head of his cock and slid his shaft deep into her mouth, causing him to moan loudly and push his hips forward. Molly pulled back slightly, accommodating his length, and began bobbing her head forward and backward, sucking and stroking his prick at a ruthless pace.

Sherlock moved his hand up toward the back of her head, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide as he watched himself slide in and out of Molly's mouth. She swirled her tongue around his slit, before relaxing her throat and taking him down deeper than even she thought she was capable of. She felt his whole body tighten, and she knew that he was close.

Molly pulled her mouth off of his cock and continued to pump him vigourously with her hand. “I want you to come all over me,” she hissed, and the words were barely out of her mouth before Sherlock groaned and came hard, spurting over her throat and chest.

She stroked him through his orgasm, his hot come dripping down her torso. He trembled and stroked her hair gently until she finally released her grip on his cock.  She tucked him back into his trousers, and stood up slowly, her knees raw and aching.

Molly demurely buttoned her blouse and smoothed her skirt, ignoring the semen soaking through her bra. She handed him his jacket, wrinkled and torn, and smiled sweetly.

“I think I will take that escort home, after all, “ she said, rising up and kissing him softly. 

*****************************************

Three hours and four orgasms later, Molly was nearly asleep when Sherlock, his body pressed against her back, his arm tucked possessively around her waist, murmured the question against the nape of her neck.

“ Did you love him?”

Molly grabbed his hand and brought it to her mouth, pressing her lips against his palm.  “I thought I did,” she replied, her voice thick with drowsiness.  “But…he wasn’t...he wasn't you.”

She tipped her face back and found his lips, moving them lazily against his. “I should have never accepted his proposal in the first place," she murmured, breaking into a sleepy grin. "Rebound engagements are never a good idea."


End file.
